Colby stops in the process of pulling on his gloves. Evan's standing just outside the door to the FBI building, a steaming take-out container in each gloved hand. He's wearing a long, dark coat and thick scarf, but Colby's pretty sure he's in uniform under that.

"I thought you had a late meeting."

Evan shrugs, handing over one of the cups. "Got cancelled, I figured I'd see if I could catch you here."

"Congratulations," Colby says dryly. The cup is warm in his hands, and when he lifts the lid, he smells chocolate instead of the coffee he was expecting. "Thanks."

Evan smiles, the way he does when they're somewhere that kissing hello isn't appropriate, even with Don't Ask Don't Tell over for the better part of a year. For all that it's noticeably getting better, rising stars in the military establishment can't kiss their FBI agent partners in the middle of Washington DC and expect to keep rising. Not yet. "It feels like thirty below out here."

"The forecast said it's an unusually mild winter." Colby has no idea if that's true, but he also doesn't much care. Considering Colby's the one who lived in LA, Evan has developed a deep and abiding dislike for the cold since they moved to Washington two years ago.

"The forecast lies." Evan turns in the direction of their apartment, one hand ghosting over the back of Colby's coat. "They're trying to make everyone feel better about the constant snow."